The Heart in Five Senses
by Starpiper
Summary: Love is the poetry of the senses. - Honoré de Balzac


**Title:** The Heart in Five Senses

**Warnings:** There are a few spoilers (_Lost Son_ for CSI: Miami and _American Dreamers _and _Officer Blue_ for CSI: New York). Oh, and here be slash and femmeslash.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CSI: New York or CSI: Miami in any way shape or form. If I did, Danny/Flack would become canon and the Touch/Smell section of this fic wouldn't have needed to be so depressing, so it's probably good that I don't.

**Author's Notes:** Just a fic I wrote in celebration of Valentine's Day, so it might just end up being a cheese-and-corn cake with sap icing. It's mostly New York, but the last section is Miami. By the way, I don't believe that it has ever been mentioned which shift the New York staff works, right? For the purposes of this story, I'm assuming it's the swing shift, since we seem them work both night and day cases. _Italics_ generally mean flashbacks. Aaaand…I think that's it. Enjoy!

_**The Heart in Five Senses**_

**I. Taste (Mac/Stella)**

"_**He was my cream and I was his coffee and when you poured us together, it was something." – Josephine Baker**_

"_What kind of coffee do they have?"_

"_Irish coffee."_

She takes a tentative sip from one of the mugs in her hands and pulls her lips wryly. She's never been quite sure why Mac likes Irish coffee so much, but if it gets him out of the office and into the company of humans, who is she to judge it?

Smiling, she winds her way over to the corner booth that the group of detectives and criminalists have commandeered as their own. He is sitting by himself, relaxing for a change, watching Det. Allison Kerney and Det. Lyle Dorden dance to a fast song on the jukebox. "Remember when we had that much energy?" he asks her as she hands him his coffee.

"Speak for yourself. I **_still_** have that much energy."

He grins and takes a sip of coffee. "They make good stuff here," he said, looking into the mug with surprise and approval.

"Hm. Well, I was never much a fan of coffee, myself. I just drink the stuff to keep myself awake."

"Really? Have you had a really **_good_** cup of coffee?"

"I've had the stuff they serve in the break room."

"You haven't had a good cup of coffee. The break room doesn't do it justice. Hey, I'm going to get more sugar, you want some?"

"Yeah, extra cream too, if you're up."

When he leaves, she takes another sip. She still thinks it needs more sugar and cream, but it's not tasting too bad now. She can definitely see what he means by the break room coffee not doing coffee justice. Stella looks up again and watches Flack, Aiden, Danny, and Thacker playing pool nearby. Flack looks like he is about to make a shot and Danny seems intent on staring at him while he makes it.

"What's so funny?" Mac asks, dropping packets of cream and sugar on the table and then setting down two strawberry-cream pastries.

"Thanks," she said, dumping more sugar and cream into her coffee and accepting a pastry. "Danny. Look at how he's staring."

"Maybe he's trying to will Flack into missing his shot."

"I was thinking that he was checking him out, but that's just me."

Mac laughs aloud and Stella feels a spark of warmth inside. She hasn't seen him laugh so freely since before Claire died. Smile, yes. Grin, maybe. Laugh? For a while, she was starting to wonder if he really ever would. She takes a sip of her remedied coffee and smiles.

"How about now?"

"Better," she says. "Much better."

**II. Eyes (Danny/Flack)**

**"Sometimes your nearness takes my breath away, and all the things I want to say can find no voice. Then in silence, I can only hope, my eyes will speak my heart." – Robert Sexton**

Sometimes he likes to watch Flack.

A quick glance when he takes statements.

A longer stare when he sees him taking a short break to recharge on coffee.

A professional regard while he watches him skillfully question a suspect.

An appreciative gaze when the dark-haired man bends his thin, lanky body against the pool table, trying to make a shot, during the few times that some of the CSIs and homicide detectives get together for drinks.

Danny wonders about this little obsession of his sometimes and eventually figures that it started during a case they had been working on together with Aiden a while back. He and Aiden had been working in the lab for hours and Flack had been slogging it out in the field, and they had all slammed into a collective dead end. Temporarily admitting defeat, he had stepped out of the lab for fresh air.

He doesn't remember how long he stood there in the cold. He just remembers snapping out of his dazed and tired stupor when Flack turned up next to him, one hand holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee out to him and the other trying to single-handedly drape his black jacket around his own chilled shoulders. When he turned to thank him, he paused and, to his own surprise, admired the way the taller man looked in the dim twilight. An artistic eye he'd forgotten he'd even had took pleasure in the way Flack's dark curls brushed his forehead, the way his clear eyes looked back at him.

Danny wanted to see more.

After a few weeks, though, he found himself looking past the obvious and noticing things that had gone under his radar before.

He sees now that when Flack tightens his eyes slightly, his temper is threatening to boil over.

He can tell by the slow way the man runs his hand through his hair that a case is starting to get under his skin.

Pursed lips that are quickly masked by a hand or nearby file folder indicate smothered laughter.

A quick massage of the bridge of his nose means that exhaustion looms on the horizon.

He knows that Flack hides pain and frustration behind humor and a smart-ass attitude.

He has reached the point where, if he fails to see the detective, he feels the day is lacking. And he finds that he is extremely curious about his colleague. He finds himself wanting to know more about what makes Flack tick, what makes him open up, what makes him laugh, and it, frankly, confuses him. So, he limits himself to just looking.

He thinks that he goes unnoticed for the most part, that he is alone in his watching, until the day that he looks up from his coffee and is pierced by a pair of familiar electric-blue eyes from the other side of the hall. The gaze blinks in surprise for a moment at being caught, but then remains steady, and it's only then that it occurs to Danny: maybe he wasn't the only one who liked to watch.

**III. Ears (Aiden/Calleigh)**

"**Because I love you and I miss you, hearing your voice is the closest thing to touching you…" – Unknown**

"Really?"

"Uh-huh," Aiden says, grinning a little.

"Wow."

She rolls over on her bed and twists the phone's cord in her fingers idly. The whine and roar of New York faintly penetrates the taxi's windows, but even that can't erase the picture of Miami, or its blonde ballistics expert, that is resurfacing in her mind's eye. "So, I got out of there – "

"As well you should've."

" – but I went back with Thacker later and broke up the whole party. The guy even confessed himself to the crime."

"I love it when that happens," a sweet Southern voice drawls back. "I've had a few of them do that with me. But honestly," Calleigh says, her tone becoming serious, "What if you hadn't able to get out?"

"I would have managed. The point was that I **_did_** get out **_and_** I busted his ass in the process. And I'm not making the same mistake of going in with no backup twice."

"Well, good – hang on." Aiden could hear the phone being muffled with her hand. "Yes? I'm on my way home…it's Aiden…no, Ryan, you can't talk, it's a private conversa – I didn't say that, I – what? No. _No._ Alright, **_fine_**, I will. Now just go." She can now hear a slight scuffling for the cellphone. "Ryan says hello," Calleigh said grumpily.

Aiden laughs. "Hello back to him. He's working with the crime lab now, right?" she asks, remember the messy-haired man from when she visited Miami almost a year ago, when he was still an officer.

"Yeah, Horatio brought him on not too long ago, just after…well. Um, never mind." Her voice drops and they are both quiet for a moment. Calleigh then forcedly becomes bright again. "My lord, though, I think he has a crush on you or something. He always wants to talk on the phone when he hears that you're on."

"Tell him I'm taken." There is a smirk in her voice.

"Are you now?" The sauciness can't be missed. "Anyone I know?"

"Uh-huuuh…by some blonde down south in Florida. Maybe you two might have crossed paths."

"Well, is this person any good with guns?"

"That's one way of putting it. Yeah, she has a thing for firearms."

"She, huh? Well, I approve of **_her_** taste in weapons, but I'll have to meet her before I approve of anything el – "

"S'cuse me, missy, but your stop is up. Unless, of course, you've got a few more bucks. **_Then_** I don't care if you talk to you boyfriend or whatever."

Aiden glared at the cabbie. "Yeah, thanks," she said, pressing some money into his palm. "Sorry, Cal, I'm at the lab. Talk to you later, 'kay?"

"Later, hon."

Phone calls with Calleigh must leave her in a good mood, because as she walks into the building she walks past Flack and grabs his attention away from whatever he is staring at. "Hey, Burn. Having a good day?"

She grins. "Yeah, you could say that."

**IV. Touch and Smell (Speed/Delko)**

_**"I would rather have one smell of her hair or one touch of her hand than an eternity without it." - City of Angels**_

He thinks the apartment is haunted.

No lights had flickered on and off unexpectedly and furniture hadn't started moving on its own, but that doesn't change the fact that he can feel the presence of a dead man in everything around him.

Delko kicks his apartment door closed and tosses his keys on the side table (_"Cute table," he said as he ran hands over the smooth, lacquered wood. "Calleigh picked it out for you, didn't she?" "Yeah…" Delko replied sheepishly._). He rummages around in his fridge (_"Geez, Delko, they should carbon date some of the stuff you have back here," Speed commented before bringing some long-forgotten chocolate back to the couch. "Let's hope eating this doesn't kill me."_) and grabs a container of leftover Chinese food. He really doesn't feel like eating (_"Dammit, Eric…eat **something** at least…" he said, putting his cool hand on Delko's warm forehead. "You're going to look like one of those fashion models at this rate. You're not sick, are you?"_), but he knows that he will be hungry later if he doesn't.

The microwave handle needs a little jiggling before it opens (_Speed grabbed his hand and dragged him to the microwave. "Eriiiiiic…it's not opening up. This isn't my fault!"_). Three minutes later, the scent of hot, spicy Hunan Beef (_"Mine!" he crowed as he and Delko tussled for the box. "The mighty cow is mine!"_) fills the air. Eating is a dull, mechanical affair and when he is done, he doesn't even take the trouble of throwing away the container, just dropping it onto his kitchen counter (_"My friend…before he got into his accident, he used to harp on me about how cleanliness was next to godliness, or something like that." Speed shrugs and drops an empty Chinese food carton into the trash can._).

He drops into a large, tatty easy-chair and curls up. (_"Five more minutes…your chair is so comfortable…"_). He can remember how they once lay on it together while waiting for a storm to ease off (_"Looks like Mother Nature is grounding us for the night." "Maybe she thinks that I'm running with a bad crowd?" Delko joked in return. "So I'm a bad influence now?" he shot back good-naturedly._), the length of other man's body folded comfortably against his body, the feel of his five o'clock shadow scratching against the base of Delko's own neck. He can still smell the faint scent of Speed on the chair (_"Crap. Uh. I could have sworn that the cologne bottle was screwed tight. Um…maybe some Fabreeze might help it?"_). His eyelids start to sink and he looks in the direction of his bedroom. He knows he should just pick himself up and go to bed, but…

"_Hey…it's getting late and the storm's not letting up…"_

"_Yeah, I know…can I crash on your couch? Just for tonight."_

…somehow…

"_Actually…I was going to ask if you wanted to share the bed…"_

"…_Eric?"_

…he just can't bring himself to go back in…

"_Oh lord, Eric…Eric…**Eric**!"_

…not yet.

As sleep clouds his mind, he can again feel a familiar body folded against his back again, stubble against his neck, and a cold kiss pressed behind his ear.


End file.
